Because it Makes Her Happy
by Roadrunnerz
Summary: Gillian is grieving the loss of her friend, Claire. Cal wants to help but doesn't know how. Written for McBreezy's LTM Fic Challenge. From Cal's POV. Prompt: Cal/Gillian - Pink


**A/N: Usual disclaimers apply. These characters aren't mine. If they were they'd still be on screen. **

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**Because it Makes Her Happy**

She hasn't been the same since Claire's death.

It's been over a month now and it still haunts her every day.

She thinks she hides it from me, with practised smiles that don't quite reach her eyes and gentle reassurances that she's fine. She thinks I don't notice, but of course I do.

Or maybe she does know. It's one mistake I still make, even after all this time, I still underestimate her.

I know it'll take time. Know that her grief is normal. That I would have more reason to worry if she didn't grieve for her friend

_But it's been over a month! _

I understand it but I still can't stand to see it. Her sadness permeates the office and it tears at me. Leaves me feeling useless and powerless and it's the one thing I can't handle. No, that's a lie. It's one of two things. I also can't stand to see her hurting. Can't stand it anymore than I could stand to see Emily in pain.

I want to do something, _anything_, to take it away. To make her happy again. I also selfishly want her back because I miss the Gillian Foster that loves life. The Gillian Foster that grins from ear to ear when someone brings her a cupcake. That one that has to stop herself from laughing when I say something wildly inappropriate. The one that notices when I check her out. And enjoys it.

I hardly recognize the Gillian who picks at her food. Stares into space. Wipes away tears when she thinks I'm not looking. The one who misses the punch line of my jokes and stays at the office late because she doesn't want to go home alone.

I've tried. Searched for something to hold on to. Something that will help me pull her back, but every time I grab a tenuous hold, it's like running my fingers through sand. It's futile She keeps slipping away.

I bring her pastries and disgusting little rubbery candies that I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. But I buy them because I know she likes them. - _She smiles and thanks me. She knows I'm doing it for her and because of that she thinks that she needs to pretend. I wish she wouldn't. I know it's a lie. _

I tell her bad jokes. - _She smiles at those too. For me. Not because she thinks they're funny. _

I tell her to take some time off. Go away somewhere warm and happy. Disney World maybe. -_She rolls her eyes and reminds me we're almost in the red. And that she's not six anymore. _

I tell her to come out for dinner with me. - _She turns me down. Every, single time. I shrug it off because I know this isn't the Foster I used to know who's rejecting me. Still, it stings_.

One night I convince her to join me at a bar. I figure that maybe it's what she needs. Maybe it's a good idea. - _It's not. She drinks a lot. Way too much. And she gets sick. It's not pretty. And I should've known better. Alcohol's a depressant. Now both of us want to forget that night._

I suggest grief counselling too. Remind her that she didn't just lose her friend but she watched Claire die. That she's the one who tried to keep her alive in those last desperate moments. That she, who's helped so many, might need some help this time too. - _She tightens her lips and says nothing. The conversation is over before it begins and that scares me most of all._

I've tried everything and it's made no difference. It's only made me afraid. Her sadness seeps into me and I take it home. Emily notices and in turn she frets over me. It's a bloody vicious cycle.

I can't stand it anymore, I admit to my daughter.

Emily tells me that it's killing me because I love her and she's right.

She tells me I should tell Foster the whole truth. That love I her. But she's wrong. Now's not the time for that. I need to pull her out of the shadows first.

Emily tells me to think of what makes her happy. I do. But most of what does isn't something I can give her.

The next day I'm standing in her office when she isn't there and I realize it doesn't feel like her office anymore. The blinds are drawn. Her desk is messy and there isn't a single photograph anywhere. It's dark and lifeless and it isn't Gillian Foster.

But it gives me an idea.

I make her leave early on Friday. Literally push her out the door, because I need time for this.

I start my task that night and by late Saturday evening I want to give up. Everything is a mess and my whole body hurts. It hurts in places I didn't think it was possible to hurt. I've never done anything like this and I'm lousy at it. It frustrates me and I want to kick one of the big white buckets that are everywhere in the room.

I do kick one of them and make an even bigger mess. One that I then have to clean up.

But I keep going because I'm the one who needs to do this for her. Not a paid professional. Even if the results won't be perfect. Or even slightly perfect.

I have a few much needed drinks that night and on Sunday I enlist Emily's help to finish it up.

My daughter's better at this than I am and I'm surprised at how much love she puts into it.

We take down the blinds too. They're dusty and bland and we replace them with curtains. Light, airy curtains that Emily picked out from a Scandinavian store. They let in light even when they're drawn and they have the slightest hint of pink in them that nearly matches the brand new colour of the walls that I've been painting all weekend.

The walls are pink.

A gentle, rose-coloured shade of pink that lights up the whole room and fills it with life. It's warm and beautiful but subtle enough to still look professional.

I bought a picture frame too and I'm placing it on her desk now.

I argue for a photo of me. (What could possibly make her happier?) But Emily shoots me down and she wins. Instead, the photo we place in the frame is one of her and Gillian taken at the Lightman Group's Christmas party last year. They're both gorgeous, smiling and radiant, arms flung around each other.

My girls.

It's late in the evening when we add the final touch and place it on the desk as well; a half dozen pink roses in a narrow, slender vase. We need to finish this tonight because Foster has a puzzling habit of coming in early.

I got a card to go with the flowers but now that I'm holding it in my hands I'm not sure what to write.

Emily waits patiently until I find the right words.

When I finally do, I write them down hastily and then I seal the envelope and set it against the vase.

The next morning I'm early too. I watch as she enters her office and I want to follow her. But I don't. I wait a moment before trailing her and leaning against the doorway.

She doesn't see me right away and it gives me the chance to see her genuine reaction.

She's stunned. Doesn't know where to look and when she turns around and sees me in the doorway there are tears in her eyes.

-_Did you...?_

I nod, although I don't have to. It was a redundant question. She already knows.

And then Foster smiles.

It's a real smile this time, inside her beautiful new pink office. One that reaches her eyes.

She's happy and I feel the weight of the world fall from my shoulders.

She opens my card and I watch her read it. Remembering the words I wrote down last night.

_-Have dinner with me tonight. Let me help you come back to me. Back to all of us. We miss you. _

Foster doesn't answer. Doesn't have to. I can read the answer on her face and it's the one I've been longing for.

She lets me wrap my arms around her. And I do. I hold her tight and don't let go until she knows that she's not alone.

I know this is only a start. I still have to pull her out of the darkness that's held on to her for too long.

Except now it's a fair fight.

Now I've got a hold on her too.


End file.
